


A kiss for Queen

by judaswhims



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale has a panic attack because of Crowley’s chaotic driving skills part???, Gen, Ineffable car ride, NSFQ (not safe from Queen), Proceed with caution, a smooch? a smooch, a soft one, agender/asexual husbands, short one-shot, subtle hand-holding, the consequences unfold smoothly and with convenient background music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 18:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21280973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judaswhims/pseuds/judaswhims
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 4





	A kiss for Queen

_Queen_ resonates at a pleasant volume and fills the bentley with rousing tunes. But most the time, when wasn’t it ? Not just any song however. _Somebody To Love_. He’s more than certain out of sheer costume and, consequently or not, inevitable affinity for his companion and the bentley in question owner’s great keening to this renowned band - at some extent rather endearing too ! but the last time he tried to pronounce the slightest of the word he was nearly shoved against a wall. _Again._

For a second he thought the lyrics, once it flowed about the chorus, was the sole culprit that involuntarily pulled him from such meditation, to which he couldn’t find any loose string along the track not to soothingly comply. But no. At least not the unexplainably pleasant weight of the song alone. Amidst his characteristic contemplations : currently made of casually fiddling with his beige trousers or tugging at his tartan bowtie, yet mostly just zoning out into the flashing at an hellish speed panoramic of central London through the car’s windows —- which he is frankly used to already, regardless of how outrageously skeptic he was about the mere idea before. Still gets his human heart skipping beats though. Again, he was unable to solely blame the demon’s innate must for haste, same for Queen for intruding his thoughts. Getting to the point, in that instant, it was a pair of golden orbs obfuscated by translucent dark glass that seized him from his periphery, nearly as if demonic witchcraft were involved. Or maybe such foul leverage was stored in the fiend’s small smirk, dancing on flushed pink lips as they wordlessly moved to silently hum along the chorus. To which Aziraphale gaped at like a dense thing, feeling simultaneously at peace and distress about the possibility of having fallen victim to temptation and use that as a suitable excuse for his sinful trance. The distress peaked fleetingly though, as lucidity managed to ignite in his head somewhere far and realise **how Crowley wasn’t paying attention to the road.**

“ !!! ” A small wheeze heaved deeply from the confines of his soft chest, hazel eyes shifting frantically and torn for being forced to break away from unconscious scrutiny of Crowley’s russet scales resembling dispersed freckles across his high cheeks and slender nose. It gets worse as there’s, obviously, no reciprocated reaction from the ginger as seconds pass and - oh, good lord ! the pedestrians idly minding their business don’t have to pay this way for whatever game the demon is playing at ! Surely it’s a cheeky and self-seeking move ! The slight stretch of that smirk might escape the ordinary lot who haven’t known such reckless and wily creature for more than 6 hundred millennia ! 

Crowley’s slender hands are still on the wheel but that does little to settle him back and eventually onslaught the dark disk and take hold of it himself, attempting ( for centurial lack of interest on a legitimate driving license ) to avoid a second - _in his knowledgeable corporeal presence_ \- run-over ! as he’s aware the demon predicted he would.  
Their hands brush together in their private and clearly unrequited state of frenzy and despite Aziraphale’s physical disquiet, Crowley’s natural cold-bloodness still beats his temporary one. For some unspoken reason yet, the demon refuses to take his slit eyes off his pure anxiety-stricken face : basically puffed cheeks washed of all colour to which the ginger-head casually tugs his chin at as if expecting . . something ??? 

“ Crowley ?! for . . for crying out loud ! react or i’ll !! “ Now that replays unfathomable memories. Armaged-_didn’t_ indeed but it’s almost as if it _didn’t befall_ just yesterday - around a year ago to be more exact. Within Crowley’s bentley however, _their table_ has been turned. Still earning from the demon a quirk of his brow, which combined with that tenacious smirk only urged Aziraphale into action.  
Not without an anxious eye-roll did he controversially soft for such a dashing pace had one cold in sweat hand squeezing Crowley’s on the wheel - for unconscious reassurance -, the other cupping at the aforementioned scale-freckles. A fraction of a second with his heart jolting higher than the odometer’s arrow was all it took. He could’ve sworn that same arrow to have abruptly slackened from lack of _someone’s foot pressure_ when their lips met soft and naturally brief. In that second, Freddy Mercury’s rock-growl tender tenors seemed to stream in slow motion from the radio - perhaps unintentionally having to do with themselves as otherworldly beings with simultaneously off-guard senses during that fraction of a second.  
Regardless, after that maddeningly long instant Aziraphale had nestled back to his seat. Clearly in a state of irrational daze given the opposed absence of stress in his composure, calmly focusing on the way Crowley bites down on his plush bottom-lip and as ironically calm utters the following sole words needed to awaken the ginger from his own stupor. 

“ Eyes on the road you _foul fiend_. “ 

Incontestably with a palpable dose of affection there, which the demon, with that very same knowledge, acquiescently carries it out.  
He pretends to drown himself back in his daily contemplations but unlike the ginger, who pursues the small smile ( and the angel’s lingering softness ) in his lips into a small line with both eyes on the road accordingly, Aziraphale lets his own show and delicately sting. To the sound of _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_ then, which was o-so-coincidentally next in queue for the rest of their ineffable ride.


End file.
